Rocky was a boy.
His heart was granite through and through.
His innards were silicon and mica, too.
And feldspar on the sole of his shoe,
which was gneiss.
Aerie was a girl.
She had Rocky coursing through her wispy brain.
Her density would wax and wane.
She was made entirely of methane.
It was a gas.
Rocky was dense.
His iron limbs were solid and tough.
His limestone skin was weathered and rough.
Diamond teeth were quite enough
for a million dollar smile.
Aerie was a cloud.
Her gossamer heart rippled with a wheeze.
Her body shimmered and thinned in the breeze.
The thought of him made her wobbly in the knees.
Does mist have legs?
Rocky was in love.
His pulse of molten slag would pound.
His feet were only partly in the ground.
His diaphanous goddess that floated around
had him by the stones.
Aerie was in love.
She was blown away by his stony gaze.
She had a thing for bentonite clays.
When she was with him it was all a haze
of loving bliss.
Rocky was decided.
He came to her house, and he did linger.
He got down on one knee, for he did bring her
a glittering jewel to put on her finger.
(It was his uncle's nose.)
Aerie was a-flutter.
She had been waiting for this day.
She started to happily drift away.
He closed the window and saved the day.
Then she said "Yes".
Rocky was delighted.
His face near cracked with a smile so broad.
His eyes glowed white beneath brows of sod.
He raised his craggy hands to applaud
his soon-to-be-bride.
Aerie was aghast.
She wanted to scream but her breath caught.
She knew her jagged beau had forgot:
Clapping flint near methane's not
a good idea.